


Foreign Foundations

by Soak



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: All in Brigidi, Bathing/Washing, Brigid World Building, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Is The Crown, Pampering, Politics, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, So eloquent!Petra and brokenspeech!Ashe, Surprises, Very fun and difficult to swap their speech patterns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soak/pseuds/Soak
Summary: Petra comes to realize that leading a nation is much harder than leading a charge. Just a few months into taking over day-to-day stewardship of Brigid, she's already at a breaking point. Her opponents on the council are stubborn and popular, and unlike with an axe, swinging over and over will not force her way through.Her foreign prince consort has plans on how to help her, if only for an evening.--or--A self-indulgent fic about how I too want to take a bath while someone feeds me cheese and fruit (which then morphed into something more serious)
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Petra Macneary
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	Foreign Foundations

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I was watching Brooklyn 99 and, yes, Boyle's belief about the sensuality of shampooing someone else's hair gave me this idea.
> 
> No ragerts

"But again, is this really necessary? The Rising Call has been our way for centuries, I see no reason why Brigid needs this."

Petra sighed, long and heavy, tearing her gaze away to stare into the distance, at anything but the men and women before her. The intricate gold and jade designs on her _gúnaan mórÌ_ rattled as she shifted on the throne. The royal cloak, the symbol of Brigidi authority, while elegant and regal—a gradient of gleaming feathers from bright amber to deep azure—was now as unbearable as the throne room. Made from polished white sandstone, somehow the tapestried, spacious interior felt more like a prison. She been high up on the dais for hours, and the cushion on her seat was growing perilously thin.

Sure, the beginning of her grandfather shifting more daily governance to her had been exhilarating. It was surreal to wrap the high monarch’s cloak over her own shoulders for the first time. A corona of tapering golden rivulets flowed down from the collar, each point ending in jade and opal stones, all cut into small icons of the spirits. She had spent a whole evening looking at her reflection. Her father wore it most of her memories of him; she vowed then to shoulder its weight as well as he had.

As she had come to learn, however, the petulance of the nobility spared no kingdom--it was not a problem exclusive to Fódlan. Afternoon sessions were becoming the bane of her existence, being locked up with the clan council as she listened to their concerns and tried her best to bridge disputes. And now, the one time she brought forth an idea of her own, a majority outright refused to offer their support. They'd been going at it over weeks now, the list of assurances and demands growing ever higher, never enough. She could feel her spirit bowing, close to a snap.

She could go it on her own, make a decree and be done with it; but that would spark comparisons to the emperor, sinking her faster than the seas.

Thank the spirits they didn't wear crowns like Edelgard did. She'd have thrown it into the ocean by now. And with how the clan leaders were acting, it might not be long before she'd do the same to her own regalia. One would have expected the original tailors to understand how a triple-layered cloak might be stifling in the Brigid heat. Perhaps it was that perseverance was her people's identifying quality, but if this mantle was meant to be a constant reminder, she'd much rather let the waves take it.

"I spent five years learning how the larger armies of Fódlan fight, seeing how many warriors than can bring to arms. Brigid will never win through numbers," Petra said as she looked back to Lan Trell, one of the seven clan leaders arrayed before her. He was massive, closer to seven feet tall than six, and she just met his gaze up on the dais. His face was thin, harsh and angular, a contrast to his wide shoulders and muscular build. Still, he had never left to fight beyond the archipelago, even in the war her father went off to. 

"We will always need the Rising Call, I am not asking to change that,” she continued. “But as the Emperor's war has shown me, a small group of elites can always turn the tide."

The door, so very far away, opened quietly. Ashe stepped through, adorned in the light ceremonial wear for a prince consort. A bundle of necklaces fell over his chest, their faint noise just giving his entrance away. She had grown proud over how he'd melded into Brigid culture, and in only the year they'd been home no less. A light linen shirt of Fódlan fell down to the decorated, knee length skirts that men wore on the island—vibrant thread designs and small cut stones adorned the otherwise earthy leather base. A gleaming, silver and opal-studded armband signified his position. 

Three blue lines ran under his right eye and another mark circled his bicep, the same as her own.

"The emperor is not someone we can trust." Lan Trell's words killed her exhausted smile. "Her mercy is just another Fódlan ploy."

Petra rubbed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. They'd been doing the same circles for a while now, and with the fading of sunlight through the windows, it must've been hours. "Then shouldn't you agree with me? We have the same goals in mind—I want to make Brigid strong, to help protect us if the next Emperor of Fódlan or Grand Prince of Dagda aren't so kind."

"Kind? Those wretches from Fódlan do not know what that word means!" Here we go again. Petra flicked her eyes over to Ashe, doing her best to tune out Lan's newest xenophobic outburst. Her husband had his hands clasped behind his back, silently advancing behind the council. He flicked his eyebrows up, shooting her a silent question:

_"Are you okay?"_

They'd learned this language quickly, on the fly as Ashe usually spent the morning public session beside her. The corners of Petra's mouth dipped into a tiny frown, and she blinked slowly.

_“Make him shut up before I do.”_

"-and I can hear your wyvern screeching throughout the night. I will not have more of those beasts in our land." Lan crossed his arms in a huff, looking to the other leaders for support. A trio, same as always, nodded sagely. Another three were just as exhausted.

"If we are speaking of that," Ashe entered the conversation, slow and composed in a courtly tone he’d been practicing, "Rúilacha has been gaining restlessness. High Princess, should I be asking someone else to be seeing to her? I am having worry that her mood will be giving the staff distress, though."

Lan—and the rest of the council—turned to face the ashen-haired, pale-skinned man that stuck out among them. The clan leader scoffed. "See! Those monsters will be a danger for our people."

"Tamed wyverns are knowing to give kindness to kind people," Ashe quipped back. "Perhaps it is screeching because you are near."

Petra turned, coughing into her fist to hide a laugh. Her supporters also moved about suspiciously—it would do no good to provoke the incendiary councilman more than the Prince Consort already had.

"I shall see to her." Petra announced before Lan could get a retort in. "We should leave things here for the night, I think we've gotten bogged down in finer details. Let's reconvene tomorrow with fresh minds." She rose from the throne, her limbs and joints whining after hours of sitting.

"Tomorrow is the day for thanking The Longbreath," Ashe added. "Will you still be wanting to have court?"

The council paused in their departures, some looking at her, others at him. Those eyes on her were pleading—perhaps a holiday break would be good for them all. As much as she disliked giving Lan time to reorganize his defense, there was a non-zero chance it'd come to blows tomorrow if they kept at it.

"You're right, my prince." Petra smiled, dim and weary, as she descended from the dais. "The Day of Short Sun—we'll continue our discussion then." She looked about—all relieved nods, even from her political rival. At least there, they could find even ground. She dipped her head to the council as she walked by.

She found her pace quickening as she made for the exit. The _gúnaan mórÌ_ pulled harder at her shoulders than ever. Ashe turned in step with her, threading his fingers through hers as they left. 

"It was... being that bad?" Ashe asked, letting the full range of concern slip into his voice as the doors closed. They wasted no time, walking through the halls at a brisk clip, subconsciously bee-lining for their chambers.

"Yes." Petra could feel her courtly exteriors falling away, the cold barriers melting. The stresses of the day—no, the past few weeks—were coming crashing down, now that she had no reason to put on a strong face tomorrow. She was at a loss for how to feel, so overwhelmed and yet relieved at the same time. 

Ashe squeezed her hand as they approached a pair of carved and silver-inlaid doors. "Rúilacha is not having- uh..." he paused, trying to remember his grammar, "she does not have— _Oh, goddess_ —she is not upset."

Petra pushed through the threshold, into the privacy of their own walls. Finally she could breathe. “I had a feeling." She stopped in the middle of their wide room, full of fine wooden furniture and bright woven decorations. Countless trophies from her time in Fódlan adorned the many shelves: a Black Eagles banner, chunks of a mural from the Garreg Mach cathedral, a pair of vulneraries she had haggled for. Ashe's small library of books took up a whole corner.

" _We can be speaking in Fódlanese, if it is easier for you_ ," she said in his native language, turning to face him. She slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him close. All too greedily she wanted nothing more than to fall onto him, to let him support her weight for a while. 

Not yet, though. She could keep it together for a while longer. There were still things to accomplish today.

He smiled, staring down at her with those emerald eyes and caramel-dotted cheeks. "No," he replied in Brigid tongue, "I should be learning. I am wanting your people to have acceptance of me."

“M- my people?” Her breath got caught up in her throat, her exhausted emotions pleading for no more. “I believe most of them already have—those who matter, anyway. Forget those idiots on the council, they’re my problem.”

“Petra…” His eyes narrowed, his voice softening. “You are doing that thing again. Are you not remembering our… um, promises? Is that the word?”

She thought back to that spring day, dwelling on their wonderful ceremony along the alabaster shores- no. She couldn’t. She still had missives to write and proposals to review before she could relax. A cold tension kept rising in her chest, strangling her speech. “ _Vows_ , Ashe. That… that is the correct word.”

“Vows.” He nodded as he said it, approving of the airy pronunciations of Brigidi language. “Yes. We are doing everything as one, not separate, remember? I am wanting to give as much for Brigid as you are—even if it is not the same way.”

“By learning our language?”

“By learning how to speak alongside you, so… so you are not having to spend your afternoons alone.”

Petra felt her bending spirit finally give out, and in the back of her mind, she begrudgingly accepted defeat; coming from words like those, it wasn’t so terrible to lose. Hot tears formed at the corner of her eyes, though she couldn't bring herself to move her arms away. She sniffed and smiled back at him. 

Ashe softly clucked his tongue, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek. The other skimmed along the hem of her cloak, his thumb tracing up and down over her arm. For a while, time fell into a gracious lull, letting all the tears fall out over smiles instead of stress. He leaned in, placing a few kisses along the bridge of her nose, the same tired spot where all her frustrations had been bunching up. Slowly, surely, each time they were being worked out.

"You should be taking this off," he muttered quietly, not pulling away. His fingers still fidgeted with her regalia.

"Oh?" Petra choked out a breathy giggle, recovered enough to tease him. "Now I know why you stole me away. Perhaps you can do it for me, then?"

Ashe ducked away, chuckling and blushing. "It is not what you are thinking." Nevertheless, his hands started to undo the clasps to remove the heavy garment from her shoulders. He kept his warm eyes on her as he worked. “You are needing a break.”

She exhaled. How tempting those words were. “Soon. The latest petitions have come in and I’ll have to review them before-“

“You have all day tomorrow to be looking at them.” The quiet assertiveness in those words fell away quickly—Ashe’s expression grew bashful, nervous even. “I have something prepared for now.”

Petra raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turning up. “You do?”

He nodded, working his hands under the cloak and massaging her shoulders. His eyes kept switching from hers and the floor. “I was expecting today to be giving trouble—I… have been making the bath ready for you, before I left.” He paused, carefully grasping the hems. “I am meaning- if that is all right, of course."

The _gúnaan mórÌ_ fell away.

She froze, trying to find an answer. As the mantle’s weight left her shoulders, she found herself rapidly agreeing with him. Her reasons for pushing herself so hard were noble and righteous, and necessary in the long-term. But as her grandfather had shown her, governance was not a sprint either. Yes, perhaps a break was necessary. With that acceptance, more and more courtly barriers broke off.

Fresh enthusiasm swelled bright in her chest. Petra bounced on her toes, reaching up to clasp his face between her hands, rising high enough to kiss him back—harder than before. Sometimes she wondered what was better returning to Brigid with: their independence, or their foreign prince. Well, of course the former, but in moments like these, it came narrowly close. “Okay. That sounds wonderful.” She planted another grateful kiss on his lips.

He hummed and smiled as he pulled back, turning to take the regalia to its hanger. "You should be going now then, or it will be losing heat."

Petra gave him a final, winding, enamored stare before she twirled around. Suddenly each step was lighter, the aches in her joints dimming as she made her way into the bathroom. It was as if all the chains had started fading to dust, Ashe’s compassion an eye in the storm. With each passing second, she let herself drop deeper and deeper into her own selfish desires for once.

She hungrily fixed her eyes on the wide, tiled basin built into the corner, brimming with water heated from a bed of coals concealed under the floor. 

Luckily nobody was around to see her manic attempts at getting out of her clothes, quick and stumbling and undignified. Her boots were thrown away like rags, the base of a messy pile of leathers and cloth. None of it was important. As soon as Petra lowered herself into the water, into the enveloping heat and scented oils, very little mattered outside of the tub. She closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh, slumping back and resting her head along the edge.

She stayed like that for a time, hardly moving, letting the soak ease into her muscles and massage her mind. Lan Trell and the council were as far away as Enbarr. Yes, she should be sending another letter to Edelgard soon—her empathy for the Emperor was growing by the day. Eventually, slowly, she started to undo her braids, dimly aware of the world outside the water.

"Would you be liking help?" A soft voice came from behind, near the doorway. "Or are you wanting to be alone?"

Petra paused, a smile growing on her lips. Her hands fell away from her hair, her eyes still closed. “That sounds nice,” she hummed, low and content as he approached. “You’re being very sweet today; are you sure there’s nothing you’re after? You’ve already gotten me out of my clothes.”

“Petra, please… stop teasing.” Ashe settled behind her on his knees, thumping on the tiled floor. "You were being stressed and I wanted to help." His practiced fingers began working through her hair, gently unraveling her damp braids.

Petra sighed again, sinking lower into the water. She stretched luxuriously, relishing how her exhausted body mellowed in the heat. “The stress was all for you, though.”

“Yes, I will not be forgetting. You have been working with difficulty to make my knights become real.” Ashe shifted, his necklaces clattering. She could feel him lean in closer. "Here."

Petra inched her eyes open, not ready to acknowledge the world outside the hot water and his voice. She found a small slice of cheese in his fingers, a cube of melon on top. Instead of taking it, she turned her head, staring him down. “What is the date? Am I forgetting something? Our wedding was only six months ago."

Ashe rolled his eyes. "No… I was thinking you would be hungry." He kept the small morsel held out to her. "You are working hard for me. Let me be working for you."

A part of her squirmed at being coddled _too_ much. The war wasn't so far removed; she was more than capable of taking care of herself, a fact she was always proud of. Petra, the imperial captain, often rinsed off with cold pails of water between rigorous pre-dawn training and hours of war meetings. She had heard the whispers before: the Empire’s legendary wyvern lord was focused, driven, and unbreakable. Petra, the heir-apparent of Brigid, wanted the same honorifics used by history for her reign.

Her arms could swing an axe a hundred times without tiring, though it had scarcely been a fortnight of court sessions and she had been run ragged. She had to remind herself that she often needed breaks when she was first learning to fight as well. Also, as fewer people knew, the Empire’s finest captain always flew beside another, one who had saved her life countless times.

Ashe looking out for her wasn’t terribly new, she supposed. It just happened to be the first time with hot baths and finger food, not axes and arrows.

Petra let out a long exhale, relenting. She wasn't a fan of Fódlan sweets, but fresh melon and cheese was a particular weakness. "Fine," she muttered as she took it and chewed, settling into a comfortable position. 

“Good.” He stole one for himself, then finished working out her braids. His hands smoothed out her long hair, running down her neck to her shoulders. With his fingertips kneading into her skin, his voice grew softer, “I am worrying, sometimes. I try not to—I know you can be supporting yourself.”

Petra tilted her head back, looking up at him. “ _You_ are supporting me, Ashe.” She smiled. “I didn’t quite understand until, well… I asked you to come to Brigid with me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You’re very good at that—becoming someone’s foundation without them realizing it.” She reached up, taking his hands in hers, wrapping them around herself. “Edelgard and Byleth were relying on you constantly, if you can remember.”

He leaned in closer, kissing along her forehead. “They were liking me, that is all.”

She closed her eyes, humming contentedly. “Also true. You can charm people much better than I and-“ Petra stopped mid-sentence, her brain rebooting.

Ashe pulled away, peering down at her with concern. “Uh, yes? What is the matter?”

Petra’s eyes flashed open, a pleased, scheming grin rising on her face. “I know what to do.”

“For...?”

“Lan Trell—the council. The clan leaders, they’re supported by elders.” Suddenly she wanted to hop out of the bath, to start planning and setting things in motion. Ashe’s arms around her neck kept her rooted, though barely. “If we can convince enough of them, the council will have to agree.”

“Okay.” Ashe blinked, his expression confused. “Wh- why are you still staring at me like that?”

It was becoming a struggle to rein in her enthusiasm. “You should do it.”

“M-me?” Ashe tried to draw back, but Petra held him by the wrists. “I… I am not knowing if that is a good idea. I cannot even speak with fluency.”

“That is not as big of a problem as you’d think. The Brigidi, they value effort and determination more than anything else. You have been here for only a year, and yet you can already speak well enough, you know our customs and holidays, you’ve adopted our markings and clothing…” As she spoke it out loud, the urge to pounce on him was growing by the second. “You can show them how you fight on a wyvern, too. For the elders in the villages and small towns, they will be very impressed—I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, I see. I am thinking…” The cogs behind his eyes churned. “Are… are you sure?”

She nodded. “I am. We do everything as one, right? I can’t be on the throne and among the people at the same time.”

Ashe stared down at her, still conflicted with himself. Petra could understand—it was a big responsibility, and especially daunting given he was a foreigner. She had come across similar situations in the aftermath of the war, speaking to officials on the Emperor’s behalf. And yet, she knew she hadn’t half the easy likeability he did. Most of the archipelago still regarded him with brimming curiosity, an upstanding warrior of Fódlan who helped set them free and married their next queen—the opportunity was there for him to endear himself to them, and she was certain he would.

Petra pulled him in closer, until his face was just over hers, hardly a foot above the water. “I trust you.” 

A warm smile fell on Ashe’s lips, causing his freckles to push high up his face. “Thank you—I will be giving it my best, then.”

Petra smiled back, craning her neck to get bridge the gap. “You always do.”

—

Petra’s hands worked quickly, fasting the clasps over Ashe’s chest. “Now, you know the route, right? After the shoals it should be an afternoon’s flight to Cladaírgid.”

Ashe nodded, absentmindedly running his fingertips along her shoulders. “I have been doing the trip with you before. Do not be worrying.”

The morning’s land breeze had a small bite to it, whipping up her hair and the sand at their feet. The deep sapphire cloak Ashe wore flapped around his thighs, its collar of grey feathers rustling. A smaller, shorter web of silver jewellery hung from the shoulders, a deliberate likeness to the _gúnaan mórÌ_ Petra wore. They commissioned it the morning after they hatched their plan. 

Mercifully, it was sensibly designed for the Brigid sun.

“I’ll try not to.” Petra patted down the front, making sure it was all snug. She pulled back and looked him over. Ashe certainly looked the part, his silhouette larger and more impressive due to the cloak and a silver axe slung on his hip. With the facial markings and the wreath of necklaces falling down his chest, he looked just as regal as her—as he should be. Satisfied, she smiled, both proud and bittersweet. “Yes, this is perfect.”

Ashe looked down at himself, shifting in his new royal mantle. A chuffed grin was plastered over his face. “This is still having… uh, I mean, I still cannot believe it.”

“You better start soon. The sooner you start acting like a prince, the quicker you can convince the elders and come home.” Petra stepped forward, pulling him into an embrace. Her hands locked together around his back, holding him tight, as if he were an oak in a storm. She pressed her face into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, my love.”

She found herself being held just as tightly. “I will be missing you too.” Kisses fell on her forehead until she looked up, letting his lips find her own. However long it was, it was still far too short.

Petra broke away first, slipping from his arms. She took a deep breath in, fixing her hair and smoothing out her clothes. Ashe wiped the corners of his eyes. “Well, get going then. You’ll need to make good time before noon.”

“Right,” Ashe said with a nod, setting his jaw, his expression determined. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned around, cloak whirling behind him. Climbing into the saddle of his wyvern, he fixed his feet in the stirrups and checked his bags. With an approving nod, he looked back. “I will be returning in a month.”

She crossed her arms, lifting an eyebrow. “A month? I thought we planned on six weeks.”

Ashe smiled. “That is being too long for me. I… I am guessing I will have to start being a prince now, then. One month.” Snapping his reins, his wyvern gave a delighted screech and took off into the air. The cloak trailed him like a banner, high into the skies.

Petra stood on the alabaster shores, watching him soar off towards the dawning sun. “One month,” she repeated to herself. With a final, long exhale, she turned away and drew her _gúnaan mórÌ_ close, remembering its sibling over Ashe’s shoulders. The weight felt much easier to bear, now over two backs instead of one.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm posting updates to [my twitter](https://twitter.com/cozysoak) now?
> 
> Also yes holy crap flipping their speech patterns threw me for such a loop. I have no clue if they're acting correctly, so lmk if things feel ooc


End file.
